


R & R

by Anonymous



Category: Majin Tantei Nougami Neuro
Genre: F/M, Masturbation, Post-Canon, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 22:56:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29517045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Demons were not viable fantasy material. She was going to start enforcing that.Written for Kink Bingo in 2013.
Relationships: Katsuragi Yako/Nougami Neuro
Kudos: 5
Collections: Anonymous Fics





	R & R

After three years, Yako had begun to take her privacy for granted.

More than that, she'd learned to take her moments where she could get them. When you were so often on the road or in the air, in unfamiliar hotel rooms with starched sheets and malleable pillows, you learned that sometimes something other than familiarity and comfort had to be an aphrodisiac.

Sometimes it was the coolness of the sheets and the heaviness of the darkness around her, clustered with alien shapes of the usual anonymous hotel room furniture, the peeking shimmer of neon lights through the heavy curtains. The very foreign quality to the quiet.

Yako was good at adapting. And she had come to realize she was good at this, too; she was good at sex. She could read people like an open book on pure intuition, and it was like turning the page to find what they liked, as simple, as running your eyes down the dark letters, their reactions – their gasps and moans and shivers – writ large and clear, the text of their senses.

It was different, working with herself – almost more awkward, which was sometimes funny and sometimes frustrating. Her mind worked too hard. It’s hard to just lay back and feel when you’re analyzing it at the same time.

But practice makes perfect, after all. And Yako wasn’t interested in cigarettes or drink or drugs; she liked long walks, but her hotels were often downtown, which promised more stress than it was worth. So after one particularly interesting visit to Aya – Yako still remembered her pale, graceful palm pressed to the glass, the soft bewitching darkness of her eyes and the damp sheen of her lower lip as Aya smiled and with a deliberation that made Yako’s pulse thunder in her ears explained what she’d used to take care of the tension on tour – Yako explored sex to relax, and didn’t intend to deviate.

Yako thought it might be time she cut down her visits to Aya. As much as she valued their friendship, she still hadn’t forgotten the cool, eerie little smile she’d worn when she advised Yako not to make her love her much more. Nor had she stopped cursing her overactive imagination for the sudden vivid image of what Aya could do right through the glass.

She peeled her T-shirt over her head and let it drop to the soft rug, skinning out of her skirt, underwear and socks. It felt nice to unclip her bra and wander naked through the cool dark room in silence, checking her cellphone – a patch of luminescence on the table – for messages before turning back the sheets.

And then -- ohhh. God, it felt so good to relax.

She let herself spill carelessly out over the sheets, closing her eyes, spreading her limbs and curling her toes as she stretched out over the bed. Yako rubbed her cheek against the pillow, listening to the breathing stillness of the night, and let herself actually think about what made this night, of all night, different.

Neuro was back.

And Yako was happy about it. In fact, though she'd deftly extricated herself before Neuro's particularly painful brand of affection made itself known, she'd flung herself at him without thinking.

Yako, as did anyone who was even remotely familiar with Neuro, knew what close physical proximity was just asking for. She had more familiar with the knife edge than anyone, and was almost inured to it on a level, but she also had survival instincts. And touching Neuro -- touching Neuro is firmly on the do not go there plateau of thoughts. There were times and places where Yako was almost reckless with her own personal safety, but Neuro is a line she decided a long time ago to never toe.

For her own peace of mind, if nothing else.

The problem was that with Neuro gone, Neuro was safe. And while it wasn't like she needed to be thinking about him to get off, it had gotten into a habit.

She listened to the sheets rustle as she moved her legs restlessly against them, and cupped the warmth and weight of her own breasts. Her nipples tightened as she traced circles around them and she focused on the touch of skin on skin, the gentle tick of the air conditioning, the cool air moving across her skin. Her hands, warm as they slid over her stomach. She folded her knees and drew her legs apart, feeling the flex of muscles in her thighs, rubbing at them idly before she closed her eyes, breath shuddering out, and slid her fingers into herself.

She focused determinedly on the softness of her own touch and the deft experience in it. Demons were not viable fantasy material. She was going to start enforcing that.

It still surprised her a little, how it felt. How good it felt. Yako still got a rush from her own skin, the simplicity of it, the lengths of skin mapping out under her hands. It felt good to retreat, to touch in ways and places she wouldn't have thought of as erogenous, aimless patterns and curling fingers, the way her hips moved into the touch. Tracing wetness over fragile skin, feeling her breath hitch and quicken as it dried.

Even going on the fact that she fantasized about Neuro, ever, in the first place, it was fairly easy to discern that while Yako wasn't exactly addicted to the adrenaline rush, for the sake of scrambling the last pieces of her sanity together to resemble something passably whole, she'd learned to acclimate to it. She remembered the demon world dating game with a small shudder of horror. And somewhere in the middle of that, she'd grown up a bit late and discovered that her high tolerance for excitement extended to a strange appreciation of the corded length of his arms and eerie phosphorescent gleam of his eyes. She still wasn't entirely sure that her hormones hadn't just redirected the thrill of fear into desire out of sheer exhaustion.

Still. Yako had a strong survival instinct, and she was very attached to it, and she didn't think about demons as her hands slid between her thighs again. She thought about dark eyes and broad shoulders, big hands with callused fingers, that would slide slick into her flesh, thicker than hers, a little rougher -- or maybe gentler -- something she couldn't predict.

She thought about kissing someone, which hadn't happened in way too long; the wet slide of tongue and lips, and a body settling over hers, and fuck, her thumb brushed over her clit and she drove her fingers deeper, and she could feel her body winding up, tautening -- it would just feel better on the way down, she knew. She'd feel slick and golden and heavy with lassitude, utterly relaxed. Nothing like an orgasm for it.

And then the air changed.

For a second Yako just wanted her brain to shut up for a minute. She could feel the mood slipping away, feel herself tensing a little, losing the warm flush of arousal for the tinglings of alarm. She was good at figuring out when she wasn't alone, and this felt familiar.

And then oh, and full blown incipient panic. There were many reasons for not entertaining Neuro as a fantasy, chief among them a morbid sort of dismay at the thought of his reaction, because Neuro found these things out, somehow, rooted out any secret she might have. He had a strange sort of fascination for it. And of all the ways she'd imagined him finding out, imagining him walking in on her -- or however he'd arrived this time -- was very high on her list of things to 'never do, thanks, ever ever ever.'

Not high on the list was a fear of someday having a bout of madness and flinging herself at him. She considered herself more likely to jump Godai out of sheer sexual frustration than Neuro. She still had a self-preservation instinct, after all. But now, of all times -- 

Well then, Yako decided in what she figured she'd later call momentary insanity, maybe he was just curious. Maybe he'd watch and go away and she'd never have to mention it again.

And because she was the same girl that had picked up the marker with full intent of scribbling on the sleeping demon's face, when she pushed her fingers a little bit deeper, this time she let a moan break free.

This is stupid, the rational mind she had left told her. This is really stupid, it's always been stupid, and ohhhh that feels good.

Yako ran the back of her fingernails down the trembling muscles of her thigh, and then let them bite in a little, twitching under her own touch, absorbing herself in the warmth of her own flesh. It felt good and uncomplicated, and she let the demon slip away from the forefront of her mind -- not that he was necessarily any less troublesome in the back, humming, a dark gravity well that raised the hairs on the back of her neck -- and instead managed to find a rhythm, her hips rising to the touch of her hand, her breath coming out in a harsh pant. Oh, she mouthed, eyelashes fluttering, and her voice broke on a little wavering cry.

She pressed her clit, finding a harder rhythm than the slow touches before, making her hips jerk off the bed. She didn't need images now, and her thoughts were fracturing, messy gasping breaths escaping, squirming restlessly on the sheets. Her nipples were hard, breasts exquisitely sensitive, but she didn't touch, just let the cool air stroke over her skin. She was a little occupied with -- third finger, yes -- and oh, displaced air brushed against her cheek and she came, hard and shaking, to the shadow of his body over her face.

Time to face the music? She thought, and wondered whether it was the sweet rush of orgasm or that adrenaline or that she was just happy behind her faint, unthinking smile as she opened her eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> Post-canon fics seem to be the hardest note to hit for me, which is befuddling because they're the ones I _want_ to write most often. I'm just doubly paranoid about successfully writing a dynamic that wasn't fleshed out even in canon.


End file.
